


Spilt Milk

by Robottko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Hot Chocolate, M/M, Shirtless, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:52:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8850961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robottko/pseuds/Robottko
Summary: Everyone knew that the armchair in the back corner of the library belonged to Sherlock Holmes. Oh sure, he didn’t own it or anything, but if you happened to be sitting in the chair when Sherlock needed it, you were sure to find frogs in your gym shoes the next day...





	

 

Everyone knew that the armchair in the back corner of the library belonged to Sherlock Holmes. Oh sure, he didn’t own it or anything, but if you happened to be sitting in the chair when Sherlock needed it, you were sure to find frogs in your gym shoes the next day. 

No one ever sat in Sherlock’s chair, so when Sherlock came in one day to discover John Watson sitting there, he was more than a little miffed.

“What on earth are you doing over here?” Molly Hooper said by way of greeting as she sat down next to Sherlock. He was sat at a table in the middle of the library, looking gloomy.

“There’s someone in my chair,” Sherlock muttered, glaring at his book more than anything.

“No one has sat in your chair for over two years!” Molly said, clearly shocked. “God, who is it?”

“Watson,” Sherlock replied, hiding his face in the book.

“Wait, really?” Sherlock could hear the grin in Molly’s voice. “Cute neighbour boy?”

“Molly!” Sherlock hissed, his eyes widening. “Shut  _ up _ !”

“No wonder you haven’t stuffed his rucksack full of spiders,” Molly continued, ignoring Sherlock’s slightly panicked look. “I suppose no one told him about your chair. He’s only been here a year and a half, so I’m sure no one mentioned it.”

John Watson and his family moved next door to Sherlock’s the summer before last. Sherlock had been an awkward fifteen year old, his braces and glasses making his squeaky voice and face full of spots only geekier.

John, it seemed, had entirely skipped the awkward stage. He was newly sixteen, and the most handsome thing that Sherlock had ever seen. He was also quite friendly, always waving and smiling when he saw Sherlock in the halls. 

Sherlock had made the mistake of telling his two best friends of his crush on the new boy, and they continued to tease him to this day. When John had become rugby captain this last fall, Irene had practically fallen over herself to ask him what it was like to date a rugby star. It was completely mortifying, and Sherlock had spent the first two weeks ducking into empty classrooms every time he had seen Irene coming. 

“Could you keep it down?” Sherlock glared at her from across the top of his book. “I’d rather the entire library not know that I have a crush, thank you.”

“You two would make a cute couple,” Irene said from behind him, making him jump. “Now that you’re finally taller than him.”

“Oh, like John would ever look twice at me,” Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I may have gotten rid of my braces and spots, but I’m still the weird boy that lives next door.”

“Not true,” Irene said, stepping around him to sit in the chair across from him and Molly. “You’re the boy next door who grew nearly a foot during the summer, and who’s now got a deliciously deep voice. You’re practically irresistible.”

“If you weren’t a lesbian, I’d be worried that you had a crush on Sherlock,” Molly said, shaking her head.

“I may not like boys, but I know what boys like,” Irene replied. “And you’re one to talk, you had a crush on Sherlock for  _ ages _ .”

“That was  _ primary _ school!” Molly cried. 

“And I’m glad you grew out of it,” Irene, waved her hand. “But I have more pressing concerns, like why is John sitting in Sherlock’s chair?”

“He probably doesn’t know,” Sherlock sniffed. “Nothing to look into.”

“Oh, he does,” Irene smirked. “Cause I told him that was your chair.”

“What?” Sherlock finally stopped pretending to read, setting down the book in front of him. “Why?”

“Last week he asked me about it,” Irene said. “I told him that the last person to sit in your chair got his shampoo replaced with glue.”

“You did  _ what _ ?!” Sherlock asked, sounding strangled. “I thought you wanted him to  _ like _ me!”

“We do!” Molly said, biting her lip.

“John thought it was funny,” Irene said, grinning. 

“So then why is he sitting in my chair if he knows?” Sherlock asked, peeking over at John, who was scribbling into his notebook furiously. 

“Go ask him, then!” Molly said, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

“I can’t do that!” Sherlock spluttered. 

“Oh, come on then.” Irene stood, grabbing Sherlock’s arm and dragging him into a standing position. Without a word, she began to pull Sherlock towards John.

“Wait…stop it!” Sherlock hissed when they were within ten feet of John, realising belatedly what she was doing. He struggled against her, refusing to move another step.

Irene, knowing she wasn’t going to get him any farther, had another plan up her sleeve. 

“John Watson!” She called, making her voice comically deep. Before Sherlock could stop her, she had ducked behind a bookshelf so that when John looked around, only Sherlock himself was visible.

“Oh, hi there!” John said, grinning when he saw Sherlock. “Sorry, I know this is your spot, but I needed somewhere to hide away from my rugby friends while I studied. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, that’s….fine.” Sherlock replied, shuffling uncomfortably. He ignored John’s blink of surprise, trying to school his expression into something that looked bored. “You clearly need to study more than I do, anyway.”

Oh god, that had been entirely the wrong thing to say, hadn’t it? But why was John laughing as though he had said something funny. It was Sherlock’s turn to blink, trying to figure out what he had missed.

“I suppose so,” John chuckled. “Not everyone is a genius like you are.”

“That’s true,” Sherlock said instinctively, floundering when he realised how insulting it could be. “Sorry, no. I mean, you’re smarter than you look.”

“So, pretty damn smart, then?” John grinned, and Sherlock breathed, relieved that John didn’t seem to think him strange.

“Pretty damn smart.” Sherlock agreed with a smile. 

John ducked his head, looking pleased with himself before looking back up at Sherlock, realization on his face.

“Oh crap, I just remembered something!” He said, running his hand through his hair. “I promised your mum I would shovel your driveway after school on Friday, but I have a rugby match that night.”

“You’re going to shovel our driveway?” Sherlock frowned in confusion.

“I did last year too, Sherlock.” John snorted. “Anyway, can you tell your mum I’ll be there on Saturday instead?”

“You shovelled our driveway last year too?” Sherlock blinked, completely lost now. Surely he would have noticed something like that happening…

“Yes.” John shook his head in amusement. “Your mum gave me hot cocoa and everything. Now will you tell her?”

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock replied distractedly. “How did I not notice you shovelling our driveway?”

“Er…” John fumbled for an answer. “I suppose you were distracted by your experiments, or whatever your mum said you were doing.”

“Not possible; I notice everything when it comes to you.” Sherlock replied quickly, his eyes widening when he realised what he said. “Excuse me, I have to be going.”

“Wait!” John called after him, but Sherlock was moving too quickly, grabbing his rucksack as he darted out of the library.

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock avoided the library the rest of the week. According to Irene, John had been sitting there every day, causing rumours to fly about the school. 

“He’s not even studying.” Molly told Sherlock that Friday as they packed their bags to leave. “He’s just…sitting there.”

“He’s hoping to corner me and tell me he’s not interested,” Sherlock informed her huffily. Molly had badgered him the evening that he ran out of the library, not leaving him alone until he told her what had happened. “I’m hoping that he’ll just give up.”

“You don’t know that’s what he wants to talk about.” Molly said.

“Of course I do,” Sherlock scoffed. “John’s straight. What else could it be?”

“Actually, he’s bisexual,” Irene said, sneaking up behind him. “But mostly he dates girls.”

“How do you know?” Molly asked.

“I have excellent gaydar.” Irene said smugly, causing Molly to laugh. “That, and I overheard a conversation between him and his sister.”

“That’s cheating,” Sherlock replied, leading them out the door.

“No, it’s called confirming my suspicions,” Irene shot back. “And I was right, as usual.”

“Okay, fine. John is bi,” Sherlock said, Molly and Irene flanking him as they walked across the parking lot. “He’s still going to tell me he’s not interested…in the nicest way possible of course.”

“Or maybe he’ll confess his undying love to you, pull out a mistletoe and snog you properly.” Irene teased, unlocking her car as they reached it. Sherlock slid into the backseat, hugging his coat around himself to keep warm.

“Fat chance.”

“Oh, you’re no fun.” Irene replied. “I do wonder who he’s staring at though.”

“What do you mean?” Sherlock frowned.

Instead of answering, Irene looked pointedly towards the school, and Sherlock turned just in time to see John duck back inside, looking guilty.

“Flights of fancy never did suit you, Irene.” Sherlock sighed. 

“And ignorance never suited you.”

Sherlock ignored her, focussing instead on his hands clenched in his lap. He swore he could feel someone watching as they left, but he refused to give in, not wanting to get his hopes up.

 

* * *

 

 

When Sherlock woke up the next morning, John Watson was already there, shovelling the snow out of his driveway. Of course, Sherlock’s hair was a complete mess, and nothing he did seemed to make it better. Thankfully his best shirt was clean and pressed, and he made his way downstairs, wondering if John would even bother coming inside.

It was only five minutes later that Sherlock heard the front door open, boots stomping in the entry in an obvious attempt to clear off any stubborn snow. Sherlock flipped on the kettle, pulling two mugs out of the cupboard as the water boiled. 

“Mrs Holmes?” Sherlock heard John call timidly. “I’m about halfway done with the driveway. Bit cold out there, hope you don’t mind that I came in to warm up.”

Sherlock exited the kitchen, clearing his throat awkwardly as he caught sight of John. “My mum isn’t home. But you mentioned that she made you hot chocolate last year, so I’ve taken it upon myself to make some for you.”

John, who had turned rather quickly when Sherlock spoke, merely stared at him for a few moments, his cheeks flushed bright pink from the cold. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Nonsense. It’s the least I could do,” Sherlock replied, trying to ignore the fact that John was staring at his horridly messy hair. “It should be done any moment here. Follow me.”

Sherlock led John towards the kitchen, trying to flatten his hair as soon as he was out of John’s sight to absolutely no avail. 

“Sherlock…” John said as he entered, the kettle interrupting him with a click.

“Sit,” Sherlock ordered, his stomach doing an awful flip as he focussed on making the hot chocolate. Couldn’t John just ignore what had happened earlier that week?

John sighed behind him, but the sound of footsteps walking away let Sherlock know that John was complying. Sherlock added the hot chocolate mix, not trusting himself to make it from scratch like his mother does. 

“This should warm you up,” Sherlock said, turning towards John, a mug in each hand. He set one mug in front of John, sitting across the table with a mug of his own.

“Sherlock…” John tried again.

“Don’t,” Sherlock said sharply, shaking his head quickly. “I already know what you’re going to say.”

“You do?” John looked at him in disbelief.

“Yes.” Sherlock snorted, focussing on the hot chocolate in front of him. “You’re flattered, but not interested. Blah blah. I know how this goes.”

John let out a snort, and Sherlock glared at him, his face reddening in embarrassment. He had thought that John was at least a  _ bit _ more sensitive to these sort of things. Women practically flung themselves at him on a daily basis.

“God, no. I’m sorry.” John said, a grin on his face. “I’m not laughing at you…just…do you know why I was sitting in your spot at the library even though every told me how scary you are?”

“Why?” Sherlock asked as haughtily as he could.

“Because I think you’re gorgeous, and I wanted the opportunity to talk to you,” John replied.

Sherlock’s mind short-circuited at that, the hand holding his hot chocolate performing an aborted move, sending the steaming liquid all over the table and John across from him.

“Oh god!” Sherlock cried out, watching in horror as John stood up, face contorted in a painful grimace.

“I didn’t expect you to throw your hot chocolate at me,” John teased weakly, pulling at his soaked shirt.

“I didn’t…that wasn’t…” Sherlock stammered, his eyes widening as John peeled off the shirt completely, leaving himself bare chested. “Oh.”

“Is this alright?” John asked, and Sherlock couldn’t help himself for staring. John was lean, but well-muscled from rugby practice. “I don’t know if you’ll have anything for me to wear but…”

John broke off, grinning as he saw Sherlock’s slightly dazed look. “You know, you’ve been avoiding me all week, even though I was rude and stole your spot.”

“I…well, you needed to study,” Sherlock replied, ripping his eyes away from John’s chest to catch the slightly predatory look in John’s eyes. 

John took a step forward, a grin sliding across his face as he dropped his hot chocolate soaked shirt. “So...are you going to put snakes in my locker?”

“No,” Sherlock swallowed.

“Cut up my rugby shorts?” Another step.

“No.”

“How about a…kiss?” John offered, stopping in front of Sherlock. 

“How would that be a punishment?” Sherlock asked, an odd swooping feeling filling his stomach as he looked up at John from his seated position.

“I’d hope it isn’t,” John grinned down at him. “Because I intend to keep sitting there with you, if you’re amenable.”

“Now  _ that _ is a punishment,” Sherlock said with a snort.

“Not at all,” John countered. “I’d get to sit next to the most  _ beautiful _ bloke on campus, and call him boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Sherlock blinked.

“That is…if you want to,” John clarified, looking a bit nervous now. “I mean, I’m not going to force you or anything, and I don’t want you to think-”

“Yes.” Sherlock interrupted.

“What?”

“Yes. I will be your…boyfriend.”

John’s grin was blindingly bright, and he swooped down to press his lips to Sherlock’s in a jubilant kiss. He pulled back just as quickly, looking surprised with himself.

“I’m sorry!” John said, eyes wide. “I didn’t ask you if it was okay to kiss you, I just assumed-”

Sherlock interrupted once again, pulling John down into another kiss by way of response. His right hand gripped John’s shoulder, his left splayed across John’s bare chest. 

John responded just as enthusiastically, pulling Sherlock out of his chair and against his chest as he pressed small kisses against Sherlock’s lips and jaw. 

They were so engrossed in each other, they didn’t hear Sherlock’s mother enter the house until it was too late. They had just enough time to jump apart before she bustled into the kitchen, a knowing look on her face.

“Its not-“

“We were just-“

“Kissing in my kitchen?” Violet asked, looking pleased. “About time. Sherlock has had the biggest crush on you, Mr Watson.”

“He has?” John grinned at Sherlock, who looked away.

“Mummy…” Sherlock whined, his face colouring. “I was making hot chocolate and then I spilt it. That’s all.”

“And kissing helps clean it up?” Violet laughed.

“No…yes…”

“It’s my fault, ma’am.” John cut in, looking apologetic. “I might have come on a bit strong…”

“Oh, no worries,” Violet said, waving her hand. “Spill all the hot chocolate you want, as long as you both stop this ridiculous pining you’ve been doing.”

“Yes ma’am,” John replied, grabbing Sherlock’s hand. Sherlock flushed as John ran his thumb across his knuckles, making a simple laced hands feel just as intimate as their earlier kisses. 

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Violet asked.

“Thank you, that would be wonderful,” John said.

“Then I’ll need you to put on a clean shirt,” Violet said. “I wouldn’t want my son to be distracted the entire meal.”

John coughed, running over to gather his hot chocolate coated shirt. “This was my best shirt, you know. I wore it special for you.”

“It did its job,” Sherlock said, pressing a sneaky kiss to John’s forehead. “And as they say: it’s no use crying over spilt hot chocolate.”

“I believe the phrase is ‘spilt milk’, Sherlock,” John grinned, swooping in for a real kiss.

“Spilt milk,” Sherlock repeated, a small grin on his face. “I do suppose you’re right.”

  
  



End file.
